A slice of moonshine?
Cicely. No—of bread and butter!
Oh, is there nothing in the Moon to eat?
Seneschal. [Pointing to ménu.]
Why, is there nothing in this princely treat?
Cicely. [Disgusted.]
What? Frozen moonbeams heaped on icy hummocks!
Mariana. [Indignantly.]
We feast our eyes; you earth-folk—cram your stomachs!
Cicely.